


No, not really

by grumblebee



Category: Turn - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Depression, M/M, hurt fic, mention of non con sex, no comfort, traumatic event, triggering flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: Ben glimpses a scene from his worst Christmas





	

You never really see it coming. You never do. One moment you're walking down the avenue, admiring the dazzling window displays, watching the Christmas lights glitter, the next you're back where you started. The shame. The regret. The disbelief that a person could be so cruel. It crushes you.

  
“Ben, are you alright?”

  
_No. not really_.

* * *

  
Christmas wasn't always horrible. In fact, it was Ben’s favorite holiday. He longed for those homey parties, friends and family smushed into a room, the cold kept locked outside. He wrapped gifts neatly, and tore open those he received with zeal. Despite work becoming more important, Ben would stay up late to write cards. He taped all the ones sent to him to the mirror in his living room, until there was hardly an inch to peek his reflection in. It was good. It was supposed to be good.

  
Ben was 22 when he started seeing Arnold. It was casual at first, with the two of them mingling around a bar in March. He was tall, and handsome. Older, yes, but animated to a point that Ben didn't feel like there was a fifteen year rift between them. Those first few weeks were blissful. As March gave way to spring, Ben became attached. Arnold gave him a small bracelet, and asked to become more involved. He wanted them to be something special, and Ben agreed.

  
The bracelet was simple; small and silver, with a circle knotted charm that sat right on the inside of his wrist. He loved the way it felt. It's cool touch against his pulse point, the way it tapped him as he worked. A small reminder that Arnold was there with him.

  
Arnold couldn't always be there with him. He worked a lot, and so did Ben. As summer came, and school ended, Ben’s schedule freed up. Arnold’s did not. He constantly worked nights, opting to stop by Ben’s past midnight. It was still fun, still exciting, but Ben felt sad. They never went out during the day anymore. Arnold attributed it to his leg, and it's chronic pain.

  
“I sit most of the day” he said nonchalantly. “At night after I take my medication I have more freedom to move.” And Ben was eager to believe it. He often saw Arnold rubbing his leg, face set in a sour expression. The discomfort wasn't feigned, so why should the reason be?

  
September arrived, and with it a new semester. Ben rubbed his temples slowly as Arnold knocked on the apartment door. It was 3 am. He needed to get up in three hours. The conversation wasn't brief; Ben could not stay up to cater to this. He had a job and responsibilities too. Arnold was less than enthused. He became bitter, asking why it had to change. He couldn't comprehend that Ben’s schedule slotted with the school day. He wouldn't hear about how else they could meet. “I can't because of my leg.” He told Ben he was being insensitive. They only had a few hours together a week, and he was asking for him to leave.

  
Arnold did leave. He left after two hours. Ben had just managed to get him halfway out the door when Arnold’s hand caught his wrist, snagging the bracelet. It lay in pieces on the floor, the chain snapped just before the eyelet of the charm.

* * *

  
Arnold’s leg got worse with the cold. October brought a new chill, and Ben endured constant lectures about the pain it brought him. Holed up in the corner of a coffee shop, Arnold spat venom while Ben stirred his tea. “We wouldn't have this problem if we'd just met later” he growled, rubbing his leg. “You know I can't walk well before I take my pills.”

  
Ben hummed. He was too tired to retort. He didn't bother bringing up that Arnold could readjust when he took his medicine. He just let him talk. Arnold was less than pleased with his silence. “Typical. Nothing to say. Just like when you broke the bracelet I bought you.”

  
Ben took a sip of his tea, steam hiding his tears.  
  


* * *

Arnold didn't like Christmas. He didn't like many things, but something about decorations and good cheer pissed him off. He constantly jeered at Ben for indulging in little treats. Ben wore black most of December after Arnold made a remark about his holiday sweaters. The tree was put up, but with lots of resistance. You see, it cut into all of the boxes that had made their way into Ben’s home. Boxes Arnold said he would unpack weeks ago.

  
Still, Ben retained hope that Arnold would come around and feel the Christmas cheer, no matter how hurriedly he flipped channels past the specials. “It's foolish kid stuff.” Ben remained silent. Was he just some dumb kid too? He wondered that as he examined the bags under his eyes in the living room mirror; only two cards taped to it.

* * *

  
Ben took his time wrapping Arnold’s gift. He was proud of it. After weeks of searching, Ben had purchased a fine new briefcase. One that Arnold had been admiring ever since his was stolen a few months ago. It cost more that Ben expected, but nothing that dipping into his savings couldn't manage. Supple black leather, polished clasps, and a crisp new lining. It looked fantastic.

  
Christmas Eve was the latest Ben could wait to give it to him. Seated on the couch, Arnold peeled open the wrapping, undoing the box to reveal his new briefcase. He looked genuinely pleased. For the first time in weeks, he told Ben how happy he was. And then he paused, reaching into his bag to retrieve a little box.

  
“This one’s yours”

  
Ben didn't know what to say. He opened it eagerly. Inside was a thick silver chain. It was sturdy, heavy...not...quite right. He pried it out of the box, finally grasping what it was. A dog collar. The linked kind you'd use to chain a dog to a post in the backyard.

  
“I'm certain you won't break this one.” Arnold clipped. “Try it on”

  
He did, but it repulsed him to do so. This wasn't at all like his bracelet. It was heavy, cold, and bleak. He was a dog. Something Arnold needed to reign in and break. He wore it all of five minutes before taking it off, trying faintly to laugh and say that it was too cold to wear in December. Arnold shrugged. It remained in the box the rest of their relationship, but it never really left his neck.

* * *

  
The rest of the relationship comes and goes. It's black and fuzzy, and remembered through tears. How Ben stared at the ceiling, Arnold on top of him. The calls teetering off. Getting a phone call from a friend that Arnold had been bragging about sleeping with another woman. And finally, Arnold ending it. Ben had given him his fun, and was now no use to him. He couldn't get a rise out of him. Ben hardly fought anymore, despite the aching tension migraines and teeth worn down from grinding. It was all internal. It all hurt Ben.

  
So here he is, three years later, standing outside a shiny window display on Fifth Ave, shopping bags in his hand loosely. There are tears in his eyes, and shame in his heart as he takes it all in: A bright happy family, donned with Christmas sweaters in the yard. They're decorating an outdoor tree, covered with tinsel. And just off to the side, a very happy dog, chained to a post, gets to watch.

  
“Ben?”

  
Ben wipes the tears from his eyes, trying his hardest to remember what a smile feels like. “Yeah, George. Let's, uh. Get lunch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this isn't a whole hurt/comfort fic. Just one of those days where it's all hurt.


End file.
